


Time and Time Again, I'll Find You

by LenaBrightRose



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reincarnation, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 09:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenaBrightRose/pseuds/LenaBrightRose
Summary: Viktor has lived many lives, reborn to perform, to be loved, but when he meets Yuuri, he finds something he wants to love in return.





	Time and Time Again, I'll Find You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Yuri!!! on Ice Reverse Bang 2019! I was so honored to contribute to such an awesome event with such awesome people!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @cleverlittleradiator

The first time Viktor Nikiforov was reborn it was with hazy memories of softness shrouding him, the thrill of success, and a joy that warmed his heart every time the fleeting memory crossed his mind. The first time he saw young couples skating on shaky legs, clinging to each other as they unsteadily glided across the pitted ice of the town’s lake, he rushed for the ice immediately. He slipped and fell as his shoes slipped out from under him but as he lay stunned on the ice, he didn’t feel hurt, instead that same sense of joy rushed through him. This. This is what he was made for, he could feel it in his bones. 

Viktor grew, ice his one true love as he skated through life as easily as he skated across the glassy surface of his family’s lake. As most young children did he had no sense of mortality, and he had no fear either. It felt unreal as the ice cracked under him, sending him plunging down into the water that was so cold it stole his breath, then greedily took all the space it could in his lungs. 

The second time Viktor Nikiforov was reborn he  _remembered._ He remembered the smiles of his parents and the joy of running through the snow all bundled up, but most of all he remembered the ice. He grew and he pursued that joy he felt when he slid across the ice, on his feet or on his back when he slipped, only the occasional jolt of terror when he remembered what it felt like to drown. A small price to pay, considering the joy he felt when he played. 

The third time he came back to life he knew what to do, as if the course of his life was set into the tapestry of the world, woven with unbreakable threads of silver and gold. He begged for a pair of skates for his tiny feet from parents he loved, but not as much as he should have, and took to the ice to do what he was meant to. Skating backwards, tiny hops, he started simple and learned on his own, each success met with enthusiasm by those around him, and only fueled his desire to succeed. 

Viktor was reborn again, and again, and again, till the faces around him, smiling with a compassion he could never feel for them, blurred together, showering praise upon him. In these lives Viktor discovered fame. He discovered fortune. He discovered that to be a god among men all he needed was to flash a perfect smile and surprise them… and for a time, it was enough.  

He knew the pattern soon enough. A life like a firework, rising into the sky and exploding in streaks of color… then a death that snuffed him out before his time. The only comfort he gained was the companions he discovered. The little poodle that always found him one way or the other, the bratty little wildcat of a child who demanded everything because ‘he was the best’, and the Swiss bombshell with a smirk and a wink who always tried to outshine Viktor and failed. They never remembered him through lives relived, but he remembered them, and that was enough. He would find them again in the next life, collecting them like treasures close to his heart, and pretend that it didn’t hurt meeting them again where they smiled at him like strangers.  

The lives he lived were enough to feed his desire to be loved, soon becoming a miracle to those around him, his skill unrivaled till his every moved was claimed legendary, unlike anything anyone had ever seen before. If only they knew how long, how many decades, it had taken to perfect, then they might not call him so legendary. It felt like he was flying high, and it was easy to ignore the nagging feeling in his chest that it wasn’t good enough anymore, succedent to his every success... or at least it was easy to ignore until he blinked, and the world seemed grey. 

It was like a lightswitch, and all of a sudden the world seemed dim and Viktor could barely stumble through. His skills didn’t fade, his movements on the ice were crisp and sharp, his spins balanced and flawless, jumps so high it looked like he was weightless, and yet it meant nothing. The pride and joy of his life meant nothing, and he was terrified. What in the world did he have if not skating? He didn’t know, and he didn’t know how to recover if the only thing he knew never brought him any happiness. 

He might as well have been Icarus, and sooner or later his wings would melt and he would fall. Viktor wondered how many more medals he would have to win and hang on his wall till they lost their luster entirely, the color and zest leeching from the cold metal till they disintegrated in his hands. It felt like a mockery, being handed medals of gold when he scrabbled for air to breath, for anything to fill the emptiness, but he could not survive on applause alone any more than he could turn his bones into gold.  

Loneliness became a constant companion, and for the most part Viktor welcomed it. He had always been an optimistic person, and the greater the pain the sweeter the joy when it returned was the saying, wasn’t it? Except what was one supposed to do when that joy didn’t come back? Days became months, and though Viktor never stopped smiling it became a mask. 

Then came the banquet, and Yuuri Katsuki danced into Viktor’s life, grabbed Viktor’s tie and told him to be Yuuri’s coach. To say Viktor fell hard would be an understatement, and his world exploded in blazing color. The thrill that Viktor had thought he’d lost was suddenly _here_ , in his arms, with sparkling drunk eyes and a truly hideous tie wrapped around dark hair. And as soon as that joy rushed into him, something he thought he would never touch again in this life, it was gone like a flame snuffed out, on last night’s flight back to Detroit. He expected a call, a text, _anything_ , but nothing came. When Viktor laid down every night he faithfully looked through his phone’s camera roll at the photo album, trying to commit Yuuri’s face to his dreams that night… until he didn’t anymore.  

Moping was an understatement, and everyone could see it. Chris facetimed him at least once a week, Yakov yelled at him to pay more attention in practice, and even Makkachin seemed to cling a little closer to his side. He couldn’t believe it, that he had finally found something that made him feel the way the ice had and it had been cruelly ripped away from him through no fault of his own. It really wasn’t fair, and Viktor was acutely aware. It was because of the moping, perhaps, that made it so easy to ignore the signs, the dizziness, the weariness that made his bones ache, until he collapsed in his kitchen, and when he came to, he realized that perhaps it wasn’t just the moping.  

Viktor tried to be casual as he asked his coach for sport doctor recommendations, and Yakov narrowed his eyes, but Viktor left practice that day with a list of three good doctors and Yakov’s assurance that he would work with him if there was anything wrong. Viktor had never been more grateful to have curried so much trust than he was now. He had always been fiercely independent, and had made sure that he had gained as much trust in him as was possible, and he had never needed it more than now. He was calm as he made an appointment, calm as he drove there, calm when he stepped inside and calm when he made his peace with whatever diagnosis he knew was coming his way. After all, wasn’t this the way it always ended? Sometimes it came too quickly with cracking ice, squealing tires, or a gasp of pain, and sometimes it came with a somber diagnosis of something inescapable, no matter how hard he tried. 

The news that he was dying didn’t even phase him. Of course it was inconvenient, but easy enough to hide… for now. He wondered if he should tell anyone. Yakov would like to know, as would Yuri and Gosha, but they didn’t need to. He would tell Yakov when he needed to, when his limbs grew too leaden to move properly and he had no other choice but to confess... but until then Viktor had options.  

The doctor was kind, less of the bully type he had expected to come at Yakov’s recommendation, but made it absolutely clear what he would be risking should he continue to compete. His bone density was dropping, organs threatening to fail, and a fall could be fatal. Viktor just smiled, and told him that he wouldn’t fall. The doctor again impressed on him the risks, and Viktor, in a much more serious tone, acknowledged it. What did he have if not the ice? 

He hadn’t realized when his face started thinning out, the bones in his wrists and collarbones popping out that it only made Viktor sharper, prettier, shinier. He was a figurine no one could touch as he jumped, soared, and cracked down onto the ice with dizzying pain. It was only trust in his own abilities that assured him it was the blade against the ice and not his bone that made that god awful crack.  

He thought he had time, but then again, life hadn’t been particularly kind to him this time around, had it? It became harder to hide the weakness he held and Yakov noticed the sweat beading at his brow that hadn’t been there before, but stayed blissfully silent. It was only when he couldn’t stand back up from a sit spin and it ended with him sitting on the ice with his legs  splayed out like a toddler that Yakov’s lips thinned and he turned away, giving Viktor time to collect himself, and Viktor knew he couldn’t hide it any longer.  

He gathered himself off of the ice, sat aside for the rest of practice, and when the rink had emptied and Yakov had returned to his office, he took a deep breath and faced his reckoning. His rapping on Yakov’s door was quiet, almost hoping Yakov wouldn’t answer, but luck wasn’t with him and he swung the door open and Viktor and Yuuri’s eyes met for a split second before Yakov beckoned him in. 

Viktor sighed. “May I have a seat?” he asked, and Yakov’s listening ears immediately clicked on. Viktor  _never_  asked permission for something as trivial as that.  

“Yes, go ahead.” He said, interest piqued. Viktor took a seat, opened his mouth, and confessed. Coming clean had never felt so good. Yakov’s expression didn’t change all that often, but Viktor could tell he was upset due to the sheer lack of yelling. He sat there and took it silently like a man, and when Viktor finished he gave his mentor a tiny smile.  

“I hope you’re not angry with me,” he said quietly, hopeful, and Yakov moved around the desk. He hesitated a moment before gently wrapping his arms around Viktor.  

“I’ll talk with the ISU, we’ll-” 

“I want to keep competing,” he cut him off gently, voice soft but sure. He’d thought about this a lot. There was no good reason for him not to. What did he fear aside from being forgotten as he died?  

 _Dying alone._  

He kept those thoughts tamped down, and didn’t waver as Yakov shook his head and tried to protest. “All I want is to skate,” he said quietly, letting Yakov press Viktor’s face into his coach’s shoulder as he hugged him. “If I don’t skate, then I don’t have anything left.” And that might’ve been the worst realization of them all, because it made tears well up in his eyes and Yakov only held him tighter.  

Viktor had found that any sense of peace he had felt never lasted long, but at least this time when his peace shattered it was a gift in the form of Yuuri Katsuki. By all accounts the Japanese man had spurned him, flinging him aside once cleared heads prevailed and champagne dreams were cast away after a banquet night, and yet… here he was, skating Viktor’s routine. The video taken was unprofessional, a little shaky, but it was unmistakable. Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off of him, the movements were sloppy, but Yuuri had only had one lifetime to perfect what Viktor had spent hundreds of years achieving, so he could cut him some slack. It wasn’t the talent that drew his attention, but the pure heart and soul that Yuuri had, and in that second everything bloomed, color and light and  _love_ lashing across Viktor’s eyes as Yuuri’s face pinched in concentration and his soul projected out of body and Viktor’s breath caught. This was it. This was why Viktor had no love for the sport anymore. Had the talent but no passion. Yuuri was the reason, and Viktor wasn’t jealous. Instead he craved more, he wanted what Yuuri had, and he wanted it now. It didn’t take him long to book his flight to Japan and to call Yakov to let him know that he was leaving and not coming back. Yakov screamed at him, but Yakov had been screaming at him for almost twenty years, Viktor loved him, but he was almost immune to it. He needed to find his soul, the piece of himself that he hadn’t realized was gone till he saw it in Yuuri’s face as he skated. Perhaps… Yuuri was like him too in some ways. 

Yakov met him at the airport, face red with anger and worry that his star pupil was having a mental break so soon after proclaiming that he wanted nothing more than to continue skating. The smile that Viktor flashed him did nothing to allay his fears. 

“What the hell are you doing, boy? Are you even thinking?” He shouted, stepping in front of Viktor to block his entrance to the airport, fuming. Viktor didn’t really have much of an explanation except the truth.  

“Yakov, I think I want to see him. One more time. I think I will regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t,” he explained.  _I think I’m in love._   

Yakov’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Viktor critically. “You are… serious?” Viktor gave him a soft smile and nodded, and the muscles in Yakov’s jaw jumped, but he nodded, waiting a moment before he stepped away, allowing Viktor to pass. “When you come back I am getting your head examined,” he declared.  

“Thank you, Yakov,” he sighed, relieved, and hugged him before boarding a plane and not looking back. He craved neither understanding nor absolution for what he was going to do, and he only looked briefly at return tickets before closing the window and never opening it again. 

 

\-----

 

His reception in Hatetsu could have been warmer, he admitted in the privacy of his own mind, but Yuuri was embarrassed, and Viktor learned quickly not to take it personally. It was a privilege to be here, to watch as they stuttered and faltered and ultimately flourished together. The day Yuuri agreed to let Viktor coach him felt like a milestone had been lifted from his chest and he could breathe again. It wouldn’t save him, he knew, but it felt good to know that perhaps he could leave behind someone to make a difference. They didn’t speak of love; somehow, it didn’t matter. Why would Viktor have to say it when every move he made showed his loyalty and dedication? 

Yuuri’s skating was... unique. Viktor didn’t want to say bad, because it wasn’t, but he certainly his own worst enemy and Viktor couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit exasperated as Yuuri looked over at him for the seventh time. “Don’t focus on me, Yuuri, focus on the music, on your feet,” he called.  _Anything but me._  It was only after Viktor pointed at his feet that Yuuri flushed and finally started truly focusing. He was too worried about what Viktor would think of him, and Viktor sighed softly to himself, worrying his lip between his teeth as he watched his star pupil.  

He tapped his pen on the boundary, cocking his head as he watched Yuuri lower himself into a sit spin. Yuuri was eager to learn, willing to push himself further than he could go for a smile, and Viktor adored him for it. He would be a legacy worth leaving behind, if Viktor could move past the fact that he didn’t want to leave him behind at all. Viktor wondered if he looked as weary as he felt as he taught the generation that was going to replace him.  

Viktor wondered if he should tell Yuuri. He should tell him. It wasn’t right to keep something so important away from Yuuri, but then Yuuri turned around and smiled at him and Viktor’s resolve crumbled, and he smiled back. This conversation could wait.  

Barcelona came quickly, and Viktor realized how alarmingly quickly his life was moving and it only made him want to cling to Yuuri more. He wasn’t certain when everything shifted, because he was concentrating so hard the monumental shift was hard to see, but when Yuuri breathlessly ran to him, holding out two golden rings and asking to put one on Viktor, he realized it had snapped into place for both of them. 

The admission of love wasn’t shocking, merely breathing out a truth both of them knew into life, cementing it as much as the kisses that Yuuri peppered across Viktor’s face when he accepted, grinning from ear to ear as he wrapped his arms around Viktor. “I love you,” he murmured into Viktor’s mouth, then giggled. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Vitya,” he cooed, stroking his fingers into soft silver hair, eyes soft and drunk on happiness, and Viktor didn’t think he could be any happier. He had a career, friends, and the love of his life right here in his grasp.... and he could almost forget that it was going to all end so quickly.  

It would be painful to cough too hard the doctor had said. The doctor hadn’t told him it would hurt to breathe most days. The wheezing and sputtering didn’t happen all that often but right now, as Viktor struggled to breathe as he supported himself on the barre of Minako’s ballet studio, he wasn’t sure that he had ever not felt this pain.  It felt like it lasted forever, until his knees felt weak and his ribs ached from hacking up a lung, but that pain didn’t compare to anything when he looked up to see himself in the mirror, pale and haggard, baby hairs sticking to his brow with sweat and eyes swimming with painful tears, and Yuuri staring at him from the doorway, expression unreadable from behind his glasses. Viktor straightened immediately, wiping his face on his sleeve as Yuuri’s quick measured steps came up behind him. When Yuuri grabbed his shirt and spun him around he didn’t fight it, but Yuuri didn’t say anything, and that might’ve been worse. He grabbed Viktor’s sleeve and dragged him towards the door, his face pale, and a surge of guilt made Viktor’s knees weak. He had intended to come here and pick Yuuri up for a date, but the expression on Yuuri’s face told him if he suggested that he might just get a slap.  

Yuuri didn’t say anything as he brought Viktor home, holding his hand tightly and slowing down his brisk walk when he heard Viktor’s breath start to go labored. Viktor could see the stormcloud brewing over Yuuri’s head and braced himself, but after all was said and done and Yuuri had cloistered them in their room, he wasn’t prepared for the look on Yuuri’s face when he turned around.

“What is going on?” he asked, voice hard and Viktor visibly winced.

“It’s nothing-” he tried to insist but Yuuri stepped close, getting in his face.

“Talk to me,” he growled, and Viktor shook his head. “Viktor, talk to me!” he shouted finally as he grabbed Viktor’s shoulder’s shaking him.  

“I’m dying,” he whispered, and Yuuri’s movement ceased almost entirely. Viktor almost expected him to fall over, Viktor’s words turning Yuuri to stone as sure as Medusa. “I’m dying Yuuri. I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he choked, head dropping as he covered his face with his hands. “I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want you to know.” There was a huge gap of silence, and Viktor broke.  

“Wha- what is happening? What’s wrong? Have you seen a doctor? Viktor, is—” 

“I already did Yuuri, I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Yuuri sat down on the bed. Yuuri’s brow crinkled in that way it did when he was either upset or confused, and Viktor assumed that he must’ve been a little bit of both. “I’m sorry,” Viktor said, but the apology was hollow. Apologizing for his own death had gotten boring, and had lost all meaning after the first few years.  

“…What are you talking about?” he asked, voice going low and guarded, his anxiety blocking him off from even Viktor. It would’ve broken his heart, if it hadn’t already been broken. 

“I’m dying,” he said again. It felt banal to have to repeat it.   

Viktor’s words didn’t have the same effect on Yuuri as Viktor had expected. Yuuri’s jaw clenched and his face pinched up. It took Viktor too long to notice he was about to cry.  

“Viktor,” Yuuri said, his voice strangled with a sob that wasn’t coming out, but also so, so angry. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me just treat you like… like…” _like they had forever to figure_ _it o_ _ut._

“I didn’t want you to think about it whenever you saw me. Forgive me, for wanting to escape that life.” Viktor hadn’t intended to sound snappish, but Yuuri pulled away, expression crumbling slightly. Viktor wanted to apologize, but before he could even open his mouth to say that he hadn’t meant his tone, Yuuri surged forward again and grabbed him close, holding him so tight Viktor thought his heart might just reknit together from the squeeze.  

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and Viktor blinked in surprise. Yuuri was sorry? Why? It made no sense, and he wasn’t quite sure why he was apologizing for something that wasn’t his fault and he couldn’t help.  

“Yuuri,” he said, pulling away to look down at his pupil, brows knitting together. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault.” 

“I  _know_  that,” he snapped, his fist thumping against Viktor’s chest in emphasis, dark eyes nearly crimson in the light. “I’m sorry because I care about you and I don’t want to see you hurting.” His voice warbled and Viktor didn’t think it was the time to tell him that his other hand was gripping Viktor’s wrist so tightly his knuckles were white. “I love you Viktor, and I’m going to stand by you, I promise,” he said emphatically, and Viktor smiled softly.  

“I know I can count on you, miloy,” he said softly and Yuuri’s grip on him eased as he hugged him tight.  

It was harder to hide it now that Yuuri knew. Every cough, wince of pain, even being slightly out of breath from going up the stairs too fast made Yuuri squint at him, not saying anything but implying that if anything else happened he was two seconds away from calling a doctor and putting Viktor through a world of grief. He already knew that he was dying, what else was there to know? He had tried to break this chain, and it never worked; all he wanted to do was live his life, hold the things he loved close, and die in peace. Yuuri was making that exceptionally hard.  

The days when Viktor could pretend to be okay were drawing to a close, numbered like a ticking time bomb they were both acutely aware of. The bad days started to come more and more often, when it became hard to even crawl out of bed, and Viktor awoke to Yuuri’s soft crying more than once. He didn’t quite know what to say, except to pull him close and do all he could to appease the anxiety he knew was welling in Yuuri’s body. 

“How can you be so calm?” Yuuri asked, voice hoarse as Viktor held him close one morning, pulling away to look at his face finally after he’d cried his fill. 

“I’ve made my peace,” Viktor gave him a softer version of the winning Nikiforov grin, one that didn’t fool Yuuri for a second.  

“Bullshit,” Yuuri said weakly, grasping Viktor’s shoulders, tears drying on his face, and Viktor reached up to clasp Yuuri’s face in his hands.  

“I promise,” he said, not knowing what else to say. Yuuri was in distress, he was panicking and Viktor didn’t know how to help. It was true, he had come to peace with the fact he was going to die, but the fact that he was going to leave Yuuri when he had just found him hurt him so deeply he wasn’t sure he even had words to express it. The best thing for him to do was pretend, and then maybe it wouldn’t hurt anyone other than himself.

 

_____

 

Yuuri’s smile was brilliant, and Viktor patted him on the shoulder. “Good work out there.” It was a miracle he had even made the jump, but he was learning. He had shed his timidity off like a chrysalis and was unfurling wings of strength and red hot eros, making every effort to claim Viktor’s signature jump as his own, and in turn, claim Viktor himself. He was declaring to everyone the vows they whispered to each other in the dead of night, a tangle of limbs and breathless love, and Viktor was so proud of him.

“It was yours,” Yuuri said breathlessly, as if Viktor didn’t know, and Viktor gave a soft chuckle, nodding.

This was where the scales were balanced, where things were as they were meant to be. Yuuri looked up at him as a coach, looked at him like his true love, and not as some ill, dying man who was seconds away from keeling over. And Viktor did his best to repay the favor. Coughing fits were reserved for outside of the rink, and to Yuuri’s credit he never tried to follow Viktor when he needed to step out. There was some part of him that didn’t want to know, not when Viktor had always looked so vibrant in the rink.

Living on borrowed time changed people. When Yuuri made mistakes that would’ve made Yakov scream at him Viktor just smiled that thin smile and told him that they could always try again. It frustrated Yuuri, when Viktor pushed too hard on one thing, but it was all worth it for that smile at the end, the one that said he had done well and that Viktor was proud.

 Viktor cherished every moment he had with Yuuri, even the moment when he dropped to his knees on the steps of the ice rink, blood staining the sleeve he held over his mouth as he coughed. Even the moment when Yuuri sobbed and pulled his phone out, calling the emergency services to come pick them up. Viktor didn’t remember much about the trip to the hospital, except that at the end of it he had a needle in his hand, a monitor by his side, and Yuuri sitting in the uncomfortable looking chair, forehead rested on the edge of the bed.

Viktor reached across the bed, reaching for Yuuri’s hand. “Hey,” he said quietly. Yuuri raised his head and Viktor was met with those eyes that were so strong, yet rimmed with red from the tears that seemed like an ever present haunt. Viktor didn’t mean to cause him such pain. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he said quietly. Yuuri’s expression twisted into something close to contempt.  

“If you say that again I’m going to roll you out of this bed, Viktor Nikiforov,” he snapped and grabbed Viktor’s hand. The laugh that choked Viktor was belly deep and he squeezed his eyes closed tightly, affection and mirth flooding him.  

“Okay, okay,” he soothed. “No more asking you to leave and no more threatening to roll me out of the hospital bed, deal?” Yuuri nodded.  

“Don’t say anything stupid then,” he said aggressively and Viktor sighed. 

“You are a masochist, you know that?” he said, and Yuuri exhaled, standing to lean over Viktor and press a soft kiss to his forehead.  

“I’m in love,” he whispered. “Someone in love will do anything.” 

“Well that’s ridiculous.” 

“You’re ridiculous too, we make a good match,” he smiled fondly, eyes soft as he used his free hand, the one not grasping Viktor’s, to swipe Viktor’s bangs out of his eyes.  

“You’ll take care of them, won’t you?” Viktor asked softly.  

“Who?” 

“Makka and Yuri, Yakov and Chris… I worry,” he said quietly and Yuuri’s expression fell a little.  

“Of course, Vitya,” he said quietly. He knew what Viktor was trying to do. Yuuri was a nurturer. If he had someone else to care for his own pain lessened. Viktor was thinking of him, even now when he was lying in a hospital bed not expecting to ever leave. “I promise.” 

Viktor gave him a watery smile and Yuuri wondered how he could be so calm.  It all seemed so…. Final. Of course, Yuuri didn’t quite know what Viktor did. Viktor wished he could spare Yuuri this pain, but all he could do was assure himself that he would find his Yuuri in the next life he lived, and perhaps they could finally be together.

Over the next week that passed Yuuri wouldn’t leave his side and Viktor was afraid it was slowly killing both of them, this sterile room that held nothing that made it theirs.  

Yuuri noticed Viktor staring and turned to him, expression desperate to help. “What do you need, Viktor?” He asked, intent on giving him the moon on a string of he asked.  

Viktor hesitated before speaking, watching Yuuri flit anxiously around. “I… I want to go home, Yuuri.”  

“No,” he said immediately. “It’s out of the question.”  

“Yuuri… please. I don’t want to be here anymore.” He grabbed Yuuri’s hand with both of his own, eyes pleading. “I want to lie in _our_ bed, with you by my side, Makka curled up at our feet. I want to be comfortable when I die, Yuuri.” He felt bad immediately at the flinch Yuuri gave, but he needed this. To be home… it was a luxury he was rarely afforded, and one he needed so much, and in his heart he knew he would get his way.  

Soon enough he got his wish, and he lay in  _their bed_ , more at peace than he has been in the hospital, though he knew he was coming here to die. There was no bravery in that, in wanting to die somewhere he felt safe, but Viktor could not bring himself to care about any of it. What was bravery to a man who was losing the love of his life as well as the body that kept him whole and unbroken? Yuuri had fought him on it, but he wasn’t able to deny his love anything when Viktor looked up at him with those sad, needy eyes.

 Losing his voice was painful. It became harder to speak with the speed and laughter in his voice, yet his love soaked words still showered on Yuuri at every opportunity. He didn’t have much time left in this life, and every Yuuri deserved to be treated with adoration. He turned to using his touch to give Yuuri his affection, because he knew he had so little time left.

Viktor ran his fingers across the back of Yuuri’s hand, each bone and vein standing out under soft skin. He didn’t realize he was staring until he heard a soft sob and looked up to see Yuuri watching him with weepy eyes. He opened his mouth, intent on comforting, and nothing came out. Yuuri seemed to realize and he shook his head, shushing Viktor as he tried to speak. 

“Shhh, darling, it’s alright,” he said, though his eyes betrayed him. Viktor wished he could tell him how brave he was, and how much he appreciated it, but all he could do was raise Yuuri’s hand to his lips and press Yuuri’s trembling palm to his cold mouth. That would have to do. He didn’t want to fall asleep but his eyes were so heavy, and finally he succumbed.

For the next week he drifted in and out of consciousness, as often as he could showering Yuuri and Makkachin with affection. He wrote letters, goodbyes to his loved ones, apologies for not being there but a hope that he was remembered fondly, and slowly but surely wrapped up his affairs. Yuuri tended him with the care one would a plant out of its element, but it was comfort care, nothing more. The day Viktor woke with energy enough to sit up in bed and speak gently with Yuuri, a little color coming back in his face, he knew his time had come.

It was minutes away. Hours tops. It was the strangest thing, but when you died over and over, you started being able to predict it. Viktor had felt this before, the surge of life right before the fall. He’d never failed to resist going gently into that good night. It was a fight, a struggle Viktor never won, and watching Yuuri, he never wanted him to have to see that.  

Yuuri adjusted the pillows, fussing around Viktor. “Yuuri, you can go for a walk. Please, it would do you some good, and let Makka stretch her legs,” Viktor said quietly, eyes soft and sad as he let his cold fingers trace across the back of Yuuri’s hand. The warmth from his hand was grounding, gentle and soft and just right. Viktor was being selfish, he knew, but he didn’t want Yuuri to be there when he died. It was one thing to have the love of his life care for him while he spent the last of his days here in his house; it was entirely different thing to know that Yuuri would watch him take his last breaths. It was worth dying alone if he knew that he could ease the pain at least a little.  

 _I’ll find you again, my love, I promise._  

All he could promise was the rest of eternity, but the rest of this life wasn’t his to give. It belonged to the sickness blooming inside of his chest that ripped him from this place too early, to a fate carved in stone that he couldn’t change, but if he had Yuuri, he had everything he could ever want.  

 _I’ll live as many lives as it takes to get you to love me again._  

 Yuuri hesitated but at Viktor’s encouraging smile he nodded and leaned down to kiss him ever so gently. It was goodnight kiss, a goodbye kiss, and Viktor couldn’t ask for more. He pet Makka once more, letting her lick his hand happily as he chuckled before Yuuri whispered one last I love you and slipped out the door.  

The latch clicked with finality and Viktor finally let himself go. His eyes were just so heavy, and he just needed rest.  

 _I’ll find you again, time and time over,_ _my love_ _, I promise._  

He sighed softly, casting his eyes to the window to watch the cherry blossoms fall and finally,  _finally_  closed his eyes.   

 

 


End file.
